The Mad Dog of the Duke's Estate-Chapter 153. To Pajar Sultanate (2)

The bomb loaded onto the train sped tirelessly toward the eastern border city of the empire, the County of Porta.

Like most border counties' territories, it had just one city worthy of being called a capital. However, unlike Reben, which bordered the southern kingdom, Porta's atmosphere was strikingly different.

"The city management here is impressive. The people look happy too. Makes the lord of Reben seem even more useless, doesn't it?" Guillotine's comment echoed in Caron's head.

The buildings were neatly arranged, and the citizens exuded not just energy but a palpable sense of vitality.

In response to Guillotine's comment, Caron gave a slight nod and said, "Porta, the Marquis of the Border, is quite popular in central politics. He's said to be both capable and personable. Judging by the city, it seems the rumors are true."

The atmosphere felt different from Reben. As expected of a border city, knights and soldiers patrolled every corner, but the citizens displayed unwavering support and affection for them. It was evident in the pride on the soldiers's faces.

This was how a proper border city was supposed to be.

Unlike the southern kingdoms, which wouldn't dare challenge the empire, Porta stood opposite the hostile Pajar Sultanate. Perhaps that explained its state of readiness.

"Aren't you going to cause a scene here?" Guillotine teased.

"Only if an opportunity presents itself," Caron replied.

"What a shame. Isn't picking fights without reason your usual style?" Guillotine continued.

"Guillotine," Caron said.

"What? I don't want to shut up. I'm bored out of my mind," Guillotine replied, having grown used to Caron's conversational patterns.

Ignoring the endless chatter, Caron quietly observed the streets. From the outer wall to the inner keep where the marquis's castle stood, everything was meticulously maintained. There was no need to create chaos in a city this well-managed.

However, there was one concern that lingered in his mind.

The security looks tight. Is it even possible to sneak into the Pajar Sultanate from here? Caron thought.

Crossing into the Pajar Sultanate illegally seemed almost impossible. By law, any Imperial citizen entering the Sultanate would be considered a traitor. That left Caron with only one option—smuggling himself across the border.

This was a common situation for all members of the Oceanwolf Knight Order operating within the Pajar Sultanate. Even in a heavily guarded city, shadows always lurked. In border cities like this, smugglers and brokers aiming for a big score were inevitable.

Normally, Caron would have relied on the broker who had assisted the Oceanwolf Knight Order before, but the news from Zerath had been particularly ill-timed.

"The broker who used to help us was killed a few months ago. There was a clash with Pajar Sultanate forces during a smuggling operation. Regrettably, you'll have to find a new way on your own."

However, all was not lost. Caron quickly made inquiries and found help from an unexpected source—Cobler. Birds of a feather, as the saying went; Cobler had introduced Caron to a local broker in Porta.

"This should be interesting," Caron murmured under his breath as he made his way into the city's shadowed alleys.

Every city had such places—dark backstreets filled with unsavory characters. As Caron walked, men of questionable demeanor appeared from the shadows. They eyed him up and down before quickly losing interest. His disguise was simply too good.

Using the Doppelganger Mask, borrowed from the Magic Tower, Caron had altered his appearance to one with a nondescript face. His attire, a suit of shabby leather armor fit for a third-rate mercenary, completed the look—the perfect appearance for someone blending into the back alleys.

Thanks to his disguise, Caron arrived at his destination without any trouble. It was a shabby inn without even a sign to mark its existence. When he pushed open the door, a musty smell greeted him, followed by the sight of a dimly lit interior. The only person inside was a bald, middle-aged man seated at the bar.

"It's been a while since we've had a customer," the man remarked, curling his lips into a grotesque smile the moment he spotted Caron. A scar running vertically down one cheek made his appearance all the more striking.

"Who sent you here?" the man asked.

"Cobler," Caron answered.

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"Ah, that oddball from Reben. Got a heads-up about a lunatic looking to cross the desert," the man said with a grin, setting a grease-stained glass on the bar and filling it with cheap, harsh whiskey.

"You came at the right time. There's a smuggling trip scheduled for tonight," the man said as he pushed the glass toward Caron.

Caron downed the cheap whiskey in one gulp, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, then said, "This whiskey is crappy."

"Complain when you're paying for it," the man shot back. "Do you have a forged ID for the Pajar Sultanate, or do you need one made? It'll cost extra."

"I just need to cross the border," Caron replied.

"Well-prepared, aren't you?" the man sneered.

"What about the smuggling route?" Caron asked.

"That's a secret. You pay the fee, show up here before sunset, and follow the rules. Simple as that," the man explained.

Caron frowned as he listened. He didn't trust the man.

In the worst case, I could always use Pluto to cross the border, Caron thought.

That method could be the simplest. Pluto's short-range teleportation would allow him to bypass the border undetected, though it would drain a tremendous amount of mana due to the distance involved. That was why he'd bothered searching for a smuggling route in the first place.

"Fine," Caron said after a moment of contemplation, pulling a pouch of gold coins from his coat.

Sometimes, the simplest solutions were the best. If you had a strong body, your brain didn't need to work so hard. And if things went bad, cutting down these men wouldn't be too troublesome.

"How much is it?" Caron asked.

"Fifty gold," the man answered.

"That's ridiculously expensive. It would take a commoner three years to save that much," Caron muttered.

"We're the only ones in town willing to get you across. Plus, anyone desperate enough to flee to the Pajar Sultanate is usually running from something—something expensive," the man countered.

He wasn't wrong. Most people sneaking into the Pajar Sultanate were hardened criminals, men so vile that the empire itself hunted them. Judging by the man's smirk, he believed Caron belonged to their ilk. Caron saw no reason to correct him.

The clink of coins rang out as Caron placed exactly fifty gold pieces on the bar. The man's eyes gleamed with greed as he said with a sly grin, "I would've given you a discount, but it looks like you're in a hurry."

"How many others are crossing with me?" Caron asked.

"You make five in total. Lucky, aren't you?" the man chuckled.

Caron recalled Cobler's warning.

"Young Master, those guys are real scum. They might smuggle you, but they're known to rob or kill their clients if the chance arises. Be careful!"

"Yeah, lucky me," Caron said, a slow smile spreading across his face.

Unexpected dangers were the spice of any journey. He studied the man's greed-filled eyes, barely holding back his grin.

In that moment, Caron's expression resembled a predator savoring the sight of its prey.

***

That evening, a carriage covered in black leather rumbled slowly along a mountain path.

Inside its dimly-lit cargo compartment, five people sat silently, including Caron. The oppressive quiet pressed down on them, though Caron remained calm. Even in the darkness, he could make out the others' faces, thanks to Pluto's watchful gaze serving as his eyes.

The smell of blood, Caron thought.

The stench of it—thick and revolting—clung to a few passengers. Though their faces were obscured by cloaks, their predatory instincts seeped through.

I can even feel mana from two of them, Caron noted, tasting the dangerous edge in the air. Although they both seemed like 4-Stars, it was a curious detail for mere illegal immigrants.

As Caron assessed the passengers, a voice broke the silence.

"Why are you headed to the Pajar Sultanate?"

It was an older man, his words scratchy with age. The subtle rustling from the others suggested they were just as curious.

Caron pulled a piece of jerky from his pocket, chewing leisurely before replying with a sly tone, "Just some business. What about you?"

"Heh. Can't stay in the empire any longer," the old man answered.

"Running away from something?" Caron asked.

"I killed a few worthless commoners, and now I'm hunted like a dog. Pathetic, isn't it? Let me guess—your story's not too different," the old man said.

The carriage rocked as it climbed a steeper incline.

"Since we're in this together," the old man continued with a grin, "How about exchanging names—"

A deep voice cut him off; another of the passengers interrupted, "What is this? A picnic? Shut your mouth before I split it wide open."

"Ah, such a charming personality," the old man said.

"You think I'm bluffing?" the other man asked, annoyed.

"Go ahead. Try me," the old man provoked him.

Caron watched with amusement as the tension thickened. A smile tugged at his lips. There was nothing quite as entertaining as a good fight.

True to form, the two exuded killing intent like wolves circling prey. Their hostility sent chills down the spines of the other two passengers, who edged further into the shadows. Even among criminals, it seemed there was a hierarchy.

The standoff stretched until the carriage creaked to a stop. A shadow peeled back the tarp, revealing a figure who barked, "We're here. Everyone out."

Caron stepped down and observed the desolate mountain road. The surrounding darkness swallowed the landscape, and only the smugglers' torches pushed back the gloom.

A voice broke through the night.

"I'm sorry, but I've got some bad news for you fine folks."

It was the bald broker, the same man who had taken Caron's gold back in the tavern. He strode forward, a wicked grin splitting his face as his gaze swept over the group. He said, "Seems the smuggling fee just went up. Another fifty gold coins are needed from each."

Then, at that moment...

Shhkk.

Armed figures appeared from the shadows. At least twenty men stood ready, weapons gleaming in the flickering light. It was extortion, plain and simple.

"The desert rats have tightened border security lately," the bald man explained with a smirk. "We had to grease a few palms in the border patrol, so I'm sure you all understand."

Whoosh.

Several of the thugs' swords began to glow a faint blue—proof of mana. Though their skills weren't impressive, wielding mana-imbued weapons suggested they had received formal knight training.

"None of you are exactly law-abiding citizens," the bald man added, chuckling. "Why not help each other out? We're all living at the bottom of the barrel here."

The old man who had spoken to Caron earlier grinned and spoke up. "Fifty gold is too much. Why don't you cut us a deal?"

"We're not here to manage your finances," the bald man said.

"You're spouting something quite plausible. But what if I don't have any money?" the old man asked.

"You're running from the empire, so don't pretend you came empty-handed. Just hand over anything of value," the bald man persisted.

His words oozed with confidence, the kind born from countless similar threats. It was the smooth intimidation of someone who had long mastered his craft.

"Oh, and you—" He pointed directly at Caron. "You'll be paying extra."

Caron raised an eyebrow and shrugged, then asked, "And why is that?"

"Because you came here on Cobler's referral. That scumbag's been doing well lately, and it's starting to piss me off," the bald man answered. He approached Caron with slow, deliberate steps, his grin stretching wide as he leaned closer and whispered, "Think of it as protection money."

"And why does it have to be me?" Caron asked.

"I've got the nose of a dog for money," the bald man replied, tapping his temple. "You reek of wealth. Oh, and Cobler told me you're someone special—said I should take good care of you."

Caron let out a sigh, shaking his head, then said, "Ha... Cobler, you absolute idiot."

"Think of it as premium service," the bald man offered with a smirk. "Give up everything you've got, and we'll see you safely across the border. You wouldn't want to die out here, would you?"

The man certainly had a sharp sense for the scent of money. Unfortunately, that was the only scent he could detect.

Caron fought back a laugh, his tone suddenly bright and cheery as he asked, "Hey, did Cobler mention anything else?"

The bald man blinked, confused. "Huh? What do you—"

"Good," Caron cut him off. "Glad to hear it."

Sching.

With a smooth motion, Caron drew Guillotine from its sheath, gripping the bald man by the throat. His voice dropped to a low whisper as he spoke directly into the bald man's ear.

"From now on, you bark only when I tell you to."